


Accidentally

by goddessofcruelty



Series: Astaroth [1]
Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV), superwolf - Fandom
Genre: Angst, BAMF Lydia Martin, Crossover, D/s, F/M, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Multi, Polyamory, Unhappy Ending, minor non-con, minor torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-15 09:55:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1300726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofcruelty/pseuds/goddessofcruelty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles threw himself into the spell, long fingers waving theatrically as he sprinkled the warding circles in ash and salt. Muttering under his breath in the Archaic Latin his strawberry blonde goddess had transcribed for him, he lit the candles, then reached for his hip, sliding out the dagger that Allison had given him for his birthday last week. With a wince and maybe a few muttered curses, he slid it across his palm and dripped blood into the plastic bowl.</p><p>“Fuck, that hurts way more than I thought it would.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“So get this..”

One eye opens as Dean looks over to see his brother tuck a strand of that ridiculously long hair behind his ear. With a long-suffering sigh, he pushed himself up into a sitting position on the concrete slab this shitty motel was calling a bed.

“What's up, Samantha?”

In return, he received Bitch Face #13TM, before Sam turned his attention back to his laptop, which somehow magically got wifi anywhere.

“I'm thinking Beacon Hills is, like, a magnet for the supernatural.” The pedantic should-have-been-a-professor tone continued as he gestured at the page he had opened. “I've got wild animal attacks, strange weather patterns, unsolved weird murders, missing kids.. Dozens of them, going back _years_.”

Dean cleared his throat and ran his hands across his face before responding. “Well that explains why Garth is there.” He pushed off the bed and paced a bit. “So he and his wolf wife go there for whatever reason, and run into something.. what? That puts werewolves in cages?”

Sam shrugged, closing the laptop and leaning his massive frame back in the chair. “Yeah, I guess, but what _does_ that Dean? Hunters would just kill them.” He ran a hand through his hair. “ _Everything_ _else_ would just kill them.”

Dean was still pacing, then he threw up his hands before grabbing his duffel and tossing stuff into it.

“Looks like we're headed to California.”

\---

Running a hand through his already messy hair, the tall, lanky teenager paced back and forth in the clearing that he had chosen, muttering out loud to himself.

“It _should_ work.. I _believe_ it will work.. and Deaton said that belief was the key, and Lydia researched this and gave it her... Well not her approval really, because she wasn't exactly 100% in the know.. _Theoretically_ approved because it would be all Greek to me without her translation.. Well not exactly because I _technically_ know Greek.. ”

The rest of his rant was too soft for the watcher in the woods to hear.

After another few moments of pacing, he took a deep breath and came to a decision. Crouching down, he unzipped the backpack that he had dropped upon finding the clearing. He pulled out ziplocks of various substances, a couple candles, a tupperware bowl, and a Batman pillowcase, setting everything up carefully, according to a diagram he had printed off just before he left the house, and then eying it critically.

It looked like a really crappy picnic.

With a shrug that communicated “Fuck it.” in any language, Stiles threw himself into the spell, long fingers waving theatrically as he sprinkled the warding circles in ash and salt. Muttering under his breath in the Archaic Latin his strawberry blonde goddess had transcribed for him, he lit the candles, then reached for his hip, sliding out the dagger that Allison had given him for his birthday last week.

With a wince and maybe a few muttered curses, he slid it across his palm and dripped blood into the plastic bowl.

“Fuck, that hurts way more than I thought it would.” Clumsily, he wrapped his hand before using one of the candles to light the mixture of substances in the bowl. It whooshed and he flailed backwards a bit, feeling the integrity of his eyebrows.

Suddenly, he felt the presence of someone behind him, and was just turning to bitch at Derek for being all creepery, when he realized that this was a man he'd never seen before.

“Well, that was dramatic, Bambi.”

Stiles realized that his mouth was open and shut it, blinked once, and then opened it again.

“You're not a familiar. Who're you?”

One eyebrow rose.

“The King of Hell.”

Stiles did the fish mouth opening thing a few more times, before another voice came out of the darkness, but this one he knew in all its smug arrogance.

“Well _done_ , Stiles!” He applauded slowly as he sauntered towards the duo. “That spell worked perfectly.”

“You!” Stiles pointed, “What did you do?”

“Me? I didn't do anything. This was _all_ you.”

Peter reached Crowley's side and leaned his shoulder against the demon's.

“Hello, gorgeous.”

**\---**

Derek likes things simple.

He likes baseball and beer, running with his pack in the moonlight, and knowing who his enemies are.

He doesn't like how everything with Stiles has to be so confusing. So messy. So _complicated_. He doesn't like his feelings for the barely legal Sheriff's son, he doesn't like that the kid keeps getting himself into bad situations, and he doesn't like that he wasn't the one to save him.

He knows he's not good enough. He's not clever, can't keep up with the blinding brilliance like Lydia and Peter can. He's a soldier. He comes with a side helping of death and destruction.

Stiles... Stiles is headed towards amazing things someday. Derek... Derek is not.

So, instead of thinking too hard about it, he comes here. It's one of those bars that every small town seems to have, with no windows or advertising sign. Only those who know can find it.

He comes here every now and then. He has a handful of beers. He likes the taste.

Sometimes he goes home with someone. That's simple too. No strings, no responsibilities, no _feelings_.

Someone pays for his third beer. Guy a few stools over, holds himself like law enforcement. Nicely put together. Derek lifts his bottle in thanks, glancing at the stool next to him once in an invitation that can clearly be overlooked if it wasn't welcome.

It apparently was. The scent of gunpowder, cheap motel, and whiskey wafted off the man as he sat down.

“Dean.” His voice was deep and Derek lets himself have a moment thinking about how his name would sound in that tone.

Shifting slightly on the stool, he nods in return. “Derek.”

“You from around here?”

Derek nods once, taking a swig of the beer before verbally responding. “Born and raised.” He lets himself give Dean the once over. “You with all those Feds came into town last week?”

Dean grins after finishing his whiskey. “Clever _and_ gorgeous. Ain't you the whole package.” He shakes his head though. “Unrelated family business. Just passing through.”

Derek nods, finishing his beer in the companionable silence that falls.

The older man's head tilts. “You want another?”

Derek shakes his head. “I'd rather get out of here.” Bold hazel eyes meet Dean's, one eyebrow arched, somehow making that simple statement both a question and a challenge.

Dean nods. “Give me an hour.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a card, scribbling something on the back. Rising, he orders and pays for another beer for Derek, giving him a wink. “I'll be waiting.”

Derek lets himself watch the other man leave, admiring the view, before turning back to look at the card. One side simply says Dean Winchester, with a phone number printed beneath it. The other is the motel information and room number.

Derek finishes his beer, tucking the card away, and then leaves. Sliding into the Camaro, he heads for his loft, but stops when he sees the cars parked outside.

He's not in the mood for the Pack tonight.

Turning, he heads out to the burnt out shell of his family home. He's got some spare clothes there.

He parks down the road after he sees fresh tire treads made by the kind of SUVs that the Argents and their friends tend to favor. Silently creeping through the forest nearby, he isolates two heartbeats. Moving around through the back way, he manages to retrieve his clothes from the mudroom without them hearing. Curiosity compels him to see who this is, an eyebrow rising in surprise as he sees two mountain ash cages, each with a werewolf in it. Derek memorizes their scents, the female's setting off some sort of memory in the back of his brain, like he's met her before, but he doesn't recognize her.

He can't fathom why, but luckily, this kind of thing is no longer his problem.

He takes his things and slips away without either of them being the wiser, hearing the male speak to the female as he takes his leave.

“Don't worry baby, your Garth will take care of you.”

He has a moment to wonder what the hell a Garth was before he shrugs and climbs back into his car, grabbing his cell and dialing his Alpha.

“Scott. There are two omegas. In my living room. In _cages._ ”

Gritting his teeth as the voicemail beeped, Derek hung up and dialed Stiles' number, leaving the same message.

Isaac didn't answer his phone either.

Muttering, he slumped back into the seat and then shook his head and put it out of his mind.

Derek had other priorities tonight.

\---

Dean was still thinking about running his fingers through that dark hair, how that stubble would feel against his skin when he climbed into the Impala. Driving along the main road, headed to pick up Sam from the town records office, he frowned as he saw a handful of suits standing around two official looking SUVs.

As Sam folded his freakishly tall frame into the car, Dean pulled out their box of IDs. Tilting his head like a confused puppy, Sam glanced at the maneuver.

“Thought we were going Fed.”

Dean shook his head.

“Feds are already here.”

“Shit.”

“Fish and Wildlife? Damn, we don't have one for California.”

“Time to hit the copy shop.”

\---

Thirty minutes later, they were standing at the front desk of the Beacon Hills police department, waiting to see the Sheriff.

“What can I do for you boys?”

Sam launched into their spiel about the high occurrence of animal attacks in the last few years, and how it had not been a priority but they had to check it out, that kind of thing. Dean nodded, flashing a smile as the Sheriff went into the back to retrieve the files they asked for.

The Winchester brothers both turned as the front door opened and a man that looked strangely familiar walked through the door. Dean frowned a moment, and then it came to him.

“Argent?”

The man blinked and then flashed a grin.

“ _Winchester?!_ ”

And then just like that, the pleased expression was wiped away as his eyes narrowed.

“You on a job?”

Dean nodded once, “Yeah, crashing at the motel on the edge of town. We should grab a drink, talk over old times.” He handed Chris one of his cards, then turned back as the Sheriff returned with a handful of files, his eyes flicking to Argent briefly before addressing the faux wildlife agents.

“Here's everything we've got on animal attacks for the last five years.” The Sheriff looked at them briefly, then back again at Argent.

Sam flashed a smile and then reached out his hand.

“Thanks, Sheriff ...?”

“Stilinski.”

“Stilinski.” Sam repeated and then frowned. “Any relation to Claudia Stilinski?”

The Sheriff took a step back, looking like he'd been sucker punched. He cleared his throat a couple of times before nodding.

“Claudia.. Claudia was my wife.”

Dean glanced at Sam, obviously waiting for an explanation. Sam patted his coat on the left side, where Dean kept Dad's journal. Aw, crap, not another woman on the side. Dean just hoped this one didn't come with any brothers.

“I'm sorry for your loss,” Sam said sincerely, then grabbed Dean's elbow and propelled him out of there while the Sheriff looked after them suspiciously, looking like he wanted to go after them, wanted to find out why they were asking about his dead wife, but he was distracted by his other visitor.

“ _Sheriff_.” Chris Argent's voice was forceful and urgent. “We've got a problem.”

Stilinski's attention fully focused on the other man as he leaned in to speak in a low tone.

“Those two are Hunters. And Stiles is missing.”

\---

Derek can hear arguing as he gets out of the Camaro after pulling her into a spot right next to a very nicely taken care of older model Impala.

“..not good enough for Cas, but some _kid_ you picked up in a bar is okay?”

The werewolf's lips twitch into something resembling a smirk at being called a kid. He was so used to being around teenagers all the time. Stiles would've laughed at that one.

Setting his jaw as the thought of Stiles shoved away his moment of amusement, Derek crosses his arms and leans against a shadowed wall to shamelessly listen in on the conversation.

“Cas is a fucking angel, Sammy. He's light and good and I'm.. I'm a fuck up. Always have been.” The tone was resigned and Derek smirks again, this one bitter. It seems he and the older man have a lot in common.

He waits til the taller man leaves, pulling away in that Impala, before he knocks on the door.

Dean opens it in a pair of pajama pants and nothing else, hair still damp from a shower. He grins and steps back to let the wolf in, locking the door behind him.

“Glad you could make it.”

Derek can't answer for a moment, letting his eyes rake over all that exposed skin, then he shrugs. “Had nothing better to do.”

Dean laughs. “Ain't no one better than me.”

Derek arches a brow.

Dean reaches out, takes Derek's bag from him, setting it aside, and then crowds into Derek's space. He reaches out to run a hand through the werewolf's hair as Derek finds himself leaning back into the door. The fingers curl, pulling ever so slightly, and then Dean leans in and nips at Derek's lower lip before shifting so that he can whisper into Derek's ear.

“And before the night is through, I'm going to have you begging for more.”

He pulls back, mischievous smirk playing along his lips, as Derek tries to remember how to breathe, pupils dilated as he blinks at the older man a moment, then shrugs, getting control of himself.

“We'll see.”


	2. Chapter 2

Twenty minutes later, Sam was settling into the local library, opening up his laptop and searching for more information. The entry in the journal simply said, _Claudia Stilinski -1240 Roselawn, B.H._

That address turned out to be the local cemetery, and after another ten minutes digging through death and birth records, he sat back with a muttered curse.

Claudia _Winchester_ Stilinski. More family that they'd known nothing about.

Not for the first time, Sam mentally bitched out his father, and added the information that he'd found out to the margins of the journal. Comparing dates, he saw that Henry's wife must have been pregnant when he disappeared to the future and subsequently died.

Running a hand through his hair, he switched topics, doing a search on the Sheriff now, noting pertinent details in the journal, as well as the fact that there was a child, named something that Sam couldn't even begin to guess how to pronounce.

Pulling up the Beacon Hills High webpage, a quick search gave him _'Stiles' Stilinski_. He was just about to note this information as well, when he felt a strange sensation, like a fingernail was running down his spine.

Suppressing the shiver, he shrugged it off, and went back to writing. A couple heartbeats later, and it happened again. Looking around surreptitiously, he saw no one even remotely interested in what he was doing. Closing his laptop abruptly, he gathered it up and headed out of the library quickly.

He got exactly five steps away from the Impala when he felt that crawling sensation again, only this time it was all over him everywhere, and he had just enough time to catch a flash of long red hair before he was swallowed by blackness.

\---

Scott was determinedly ignoring the beeping of his voicemail, just as they'd ignored Isaac's. If it was an emergency, all three phones would have been blowing up. Right now, he was focused on watching himself sliding agonizingly slowly into Isaac beneath him.

“Scott..” Allison's breathy whisper came from the other side of the blonde werewolf, where they had stilled what they had started, in order to allow him to join.

He shifted slightly so that he could smirk at her over Isaac's shoulder, then bit down hard on it as he continued the deliberate pace until he was fully nested within their lover, reaching down now to caress her as he set the pace for the three of them.

It was just after they'd changed positions again, this time with Allison sandwiched between the two wolves, when Scott's phone rang again. Continuing his policy of ignoring it, he did however move things along more quickly.

Allison's phone went off, _Bring Me To Life_ echoing out into the room, and her eyes flew open.

“Lydia,” she said softly, and with that, they all began moving hurriedly, all managing to sate themselves by the time Isaac's phone started ringing again.

Scott reached for it, answering without even looking.

“Lydia.”

She didn't waste time bitching about the unanswered calls.

“I've got a passed out hunter and two unconscious omega werewolves at the Hale house.”

Click.

The Alpha blinked at his phone a moment, then looked at his lovers. Isaac was already halfway to the shower, flicking it on and washing up rapidly, Allison ducking in after him, and Scott lastly. They'd gotten this down to a science now, and within the half hour, they were all on their way in Allison's SUV.

Just as they got there Allison's dad pulled up, closely followed by the Sheriff's cruiser.

“Allison?”

“Hey, dad. Lydia call you too?”

“No, we traced Stiles' cell here. He didn't show up for our session this morning, or at Deaton's after that.”

“Doesn't look like he ate at home this morning either,” put in the Sheriff worriedly. “When's the last time any of you talked to him?”

The three of them glanced at each other, then Scott pulled out his phone and scrolled. “We texted yesterday morning. He seemed fine?” Scott looked a bit sheepish.

The Sheriff was already digging through Stiles' jeep, pulling out the phone and raising it up so that they could all see it as Lydia came out onto the porch.

“Well, he must be somewhere in the area.”

Scott nodded. “I have to take care of this situation. Allison will represent hunters.” He glanced to Isaac, and the two older men. “You three spread out. Keep your cells on. Isaac, call Derek.” He waited until he'd gotten a nod from everyone, and then turned to Lydia, who narrowed her eyes at the duo when the others left.

“I don't like not knowing what's going on. I really don't like being ignored.”

Scott nodded softly. “If it helps, I don't know what's going on either. Derek left me a message about the wolves, but I don't know where Stiles is, or what this hunter is doing here.”

Lydia pursed her lips and nodded after a minute. “Lets find out.”

Spinning on her heel, she stalked into the house. Scott and Allison followed a moment later after exchanging a look.

\---

“Well, if it isn't my least favorite puppy.” The tone said that the apparent King of Hell wasn't altogether pleased with this turn of events.

Peter stalked around the shorter man, looking every inch the deadly predator that he was, extending his claws as he returned to Crowley's front, reaching the one on his index finger to just barely scrape along the side of the demon's jawline. “It has been far too long.”

They stood like that, gazes locked, and Stiles stared back and forth between them a moment.

“Okay, look, whatever this is, and I don't care what it is, can you go somewhere else to do it, because I'm tired and hungry and just a little bit _pissed off_ , because I wasted time on that and --” He broke off as two old, very dangerous gazes focused completely on him. “Um, nevermind, I'm just going to go now, you stay here, and.. whatever.” He backed up a step, but before he could get too far, Peter was right there, vise-like grip wrapped around the boy's upper arm.

“Oh, no, Stiles, this is all for you.”

Stiles snorted in disbelief, he couldn't help it.

Peter flashed him a brief grin and amended his statement. “Well, _mostly_ for you.”

“As much fun as it has been to meet Bambi, **what am I doing here**?” Crowley still hadn't shifted from the spot that he'd appeared in.

Stiles flinched back from the demon's suddenly raised voice, and would have fallen without Peter's grip on him.

“You're here, _Fergus_ , to teach him. Just like you taught me.” Peter tilted his head a moment and then shrugged. “Well, perhaps not _exactly_ like you taught me. I have a feeling my nephew might have an issue with certain...methods you employed.”

“Wait, what? Teach me what?” Stiles eye narrowed. “ _What_ about Derek?”

Peter patted Stiles' head patronizingly. “Oh don't worry, he's plenty...occupied at the moment.” Before Stiles could dig at that, Peter shoved him towards Crowley.

“You could start by giving him permission to move.”

By the time Stiles had righted himself, Peter was gone and he was left in the middle of nowhere with a powerful angry demon.

\---

The first thing Sam was aware of was that weird tickling sensation, and then there was silence as it faded away. He didn't react to being awakened, listening a moment, ears straining until he heard the click of heels as someone moved a step towards him.

“He should be aware now.” Her voice sounded petulant, as if Sam's refusal to open his eyes was an affront to her personally.

“He's awake.” A male, somewhat further away. “I could hear his breathing change, and his heartbeat just spiked.”

Sam opened his eyes.

There were three of them. A redhead that seemed vaguely familiar to him, a dark-haired kid who was leaning against the opposite wall, half in shadow, and the third was a hunter. Like recognized like, noting the weapon still at readiness, the hyper-focused gaze, the absolute stillness and economy of movement, and the wary, world weary eyes that came with being raised in the life. In addition, the way he was bound to the chair was the work of a thorough professional.

“You're an Argent. Too young to be Katie. Must be Chris' kid.”

“Allison.” She said softly, and he nodded.

“That's right, my brother and I were at your second birthday party. I'm Sam. Sam Winchester. My dad was a buddy of your grandfather's.”

“And your brother dated Kate,” she said flatly, and Sam felt the atmosphere in the room change as the kids all looked at each other.

The redhead stepped forward into Sam's line of sight and crossed her arms. “You need to leave town. We don't want you here.”

Sam put on his best “I'm a nice guy look” and shook his head. “Listen, we're just here looking for a friend of ours that went missing.”

“Friend?” The kid from the back stepped forward, and the way the girls stepped back and deferred to him, it was clear that he was the leader of this little pack.

“Yeah, guy named Garth. Skinny, nicest guy you'll ever meet. Brought his wife out this way. Werewolf.” He threw that last bit out there, and his suspicions were confirmed as not one of them looked surprised.

“The omegas.” The hunter stated softly. She and the boy shared a look and then he left the room. Looking towards the redhead, Allison simply said, “Watch him.” and followed the other out.

For her part, she huffed and rolled her eyes, grabbing a nail file and curling up on the wreckage of a couch to focus intently on her nails.

Sam studied his surroundings while the girl ignored him more thoroughly then he could ever recall being ignored. He casually tested his bindings, impressed despite himself. His hands were chained to the arms of the chair, no lock to pick, and no slack to take advantage of. His ankles were bound to the legs of the chair, and as he craned his neck, he could see that the chair was bolted to the ground. Just as he began to consider other scenarios for getting free, the girl lifted her head and stared intently at him. Out of nowhere that crawling sensation started up again, and he shuddered and narrowed his eyes at her.

“How are you doing that?”

She smirked and went back to her nails, studying them a moment before responding.

“Banshee. And you have died so very many times, Sammy. Your soul is more dead than alive.”

Before he could process that lovely little tidbit of information, the hunter poked her head in the room. “Lydia. Scott wants to talk with you.”

Lydia stood up, blowing a kiss at Sam and then stalked out of the room. Sam didn't realize that he was intently taking in the view until Allison pointedly cleared her throat.

“I've met banshees before. Not one of them looked like...that.”

Allison shrugged. “Lydia does things her own way.”

And she came over and started undoing the chains that bound him to the chair. “Your wolves are in the other room. You can see them in a minute.”

\---

“Um..you can move?”

Crowley rolled his eyes and sauntered from his spot, ancient eyes focused on Stiles. “Alright, Bambi, here's how this is going to happen. I'll show you as much as I can in the next twenty-four hours, and then you release me from this ridiculous binding, so I can get on with the business of running Hell.”

Stiles slowly narrowed his eyes, silent for a moment as his mind rapidly ticked over everything that had transpired. Instead of answering, he asked his own question.

“Why you?”

“I know a thing or two about witches.”

“I have someone to teach me already. Deaton-”

Crowley's laugh cut him off. “ _Alan_ Deaton? No wonder you haven't learned anything. Druids.” He snorted in derision, then arched a brow at the boy. “Do we have a deal or not?”

Stiles crossed his arms across his chest. He was wary of a deal with the King of Hell. “I'm going to need to see all terms in written form.”

Crowley was silent a second and then stepped forward into Stiles' space. For his part, the younger man just met the gaze with a challenging bold one of his own.

“Ah, well now, it all becomes clear. Fair enough, Bambi. Lets adjourn to someplace more comfortable, and we can get the paperwork started.”

\---

“Garth!” Sam rushed to the cages where the unconscious wolves were being held, turning his head to look at Allison. “What did you do to them?”

She shrugged, unconcerned. “They were this way when we found them. It wasn't Dad either.”

Lydia shook her head as well. “I can only do it to the dead. Or undead.” A quick smirk at Sam, who found himself unwilling to look away from her eyes. “Or mostly dead.”

Allison stepped between them and then looked at Scott, who made a face and then lifted his chin, staring at the cages. He took a deep breath and then his eyes flashed red, Sam taking a step back inadvertently as the loudest roar he'd ever heard emanated from what was no longer a human looking kid.

“That won't work.”

The hair on the back of Sam's neck prickled as his body reacted to the new occupant of the room, the first time he'd truly felt in danger during this whole process.

“Peter.” Lydia's tone was full of warning, and he stopped halfway through the doorway, only the slight hunch of his shoulder betraying that it wasn't a voluntary halt. Sam glanced at Lydia, as she smiled sweetly up at him. “He's mostly dead, too.”

Sam and Peter exchanged glances next, ancient enemies sizing each other up easily. Hunter and predator, in any other setting, one of them would already be dead.

“Sam Winchester..” Peter was still stuck in the doorway, but his mouth seemed to be free to move. “Your reputation precedes you.” Peter's gaze raked him up and down. “Not quite the seven foot tall, demon-slaying vessel of Satan that I've heard so much about. They got the hair right though. Seriously, when is that last time you had that cut?”

Sam narrowed his eyes and took one step forward but stopped as he felt the creepy-crawlies that meant that Lydia was controlling his soul again. He glared at her, and she ignored him in favor of pointing Peter towards the sleeping wolves.

“I don't have time for this. Wake them up now. I have a date tonight that I still need to get ready for.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has non-con elements and a small amount of bloodplay. All of it's between Crowley and Peter. Not really enough to tag for, but I thought I'd provide a warning.

“C'mon Dean.. Move! _Please_..”

Dean chuckles darkly, leaning forward slightly, pressing his chest to Derek's back, to speak low into Derek's ear.

“You like it like this, kid?”

A low moan is the only response as he pulls ever so slowly back, then slams his hips forward again, pressing and holding.

“Like to be fucked hard, like to be filled with my cock?”

The fingers of his left hand are twisted in Derek's hair, pulling his head back, the other grips Derek's right hip so hard his nails bite into the skin. Derek's hands are buried in the cheap sheets underneath him, hiding the claws that are peeking out. His eyes are shut so that the blue flash doesn't show as Dean makes him arch his back.

He hammers into Derek ruthlessly a few more times, gaze raking over the man on his hands and knees, then slides his right hand down, down from Derek's hip, down and under to stroke him gently. “I can't hear you. Maybe I should stop...” And he makes good on his threat, stilling the thrusting of his hips, loosening his hand so that he's barely holding Derek's cock.

There's a whimper of protest from beneath him, and Derek shifts, grinding into Dean's hand, which only earns him another chuckle.

“Oh no, Derek, I want to hear that sexy voice beg..”

Derek takes a moment to get himself together, pride rearing its head for just a minute, until Dean moves again, hitting that bundle of nerves that sends sparks up his spine. And then the pleading falls shamelessly from his lips, and it keeps going as Dean moves again, both hips and hand until Derek falls apart beneath him, spilling onto the motel sheets.

The name he cries out isn't Dean's, but then the name that's whispered reverently, before the man above him finds his own release, isn't his either.

\---

Three hours later, Crowley's estimation for the boy who had bound him as his familiar had risen dramatically. This was no teenaged pawn of Peter Hale's. This kid was _smart_. And devious as hell, digging out nearly three quarters of the traps Crowley had laid in the contract.

What he'd caught a glimmer of earlier, was now a certainty.

Peter was grooming this kid to be his Emissary, but not just limiting himself to the traditional ways. Not that the demon could blame him, that hadn't protected his family from Kate Argent after all.

Crowley knew the whole story now, having gotten curious about what had happened to Peter since his brief stint in Hell.

Most monsters went to Purgatory, but Alpha werewolves, well.. they had to get Hellhounds from _somewhere_.

Crowley had been pleased to find Kate within his domain, and had lavished her with his attention. She hadn't seemed to take it very well.

Nearly a full bottle of Craig later and Stiles nods once, stops clicking his pen and looks up at Crowley. The King of Hell arched an eyebrow, settling his glass down.

“Everything in order, Bambi?”

“That's not really as clever or amusing as you seem to think it is and I'm gonna make a phonecall.” Stiles pointed the pen at Crowley. “You're gonna give me some privacy for it.”

Crowley's eyes flashed red a moment as he felt the compulsion from the spell forcing him to do his master's bidding. He rose leisurely, glowering down to the young man. “I won't be your familiar forever, _Stiles_ , and you'd be smart to remember that you're dealing with the _**King of Hell**_!”

Setting his jaw, Crowley made his way to the Stilinski's backyard, scowl darkening as he found that he couldn't even eavesdrop without running into the Familiar spell.

And then he realized that he left his liquor behind.

“Bloody hell.”

\---

Peter had handed Lydia two syringes filled with something and then slipped out the back while her attention was on Sam. He never stayed around long after she used her powers on him. Peter didn't like being helpless.

Sam found he could breathe easier once the werwolf had vacated the premises.

Lydia handed the serum to Sam, as the Argent girl and her pet werewolf slipped out as well. They were going to join the search now that this situation was handled.

“Those cages,” she nodded towards them, “Iron and mountain ash. I can't touch them any more than Peter could have.”

At Sam's curious headtilt, somehow managing to look more like a puppy than any of the actual werewolves, she shrugged.

“Peter's a werewolf. Pure iron burns me.” She lifted the back of her shirt, showing him what looked like an imprint of one of those old style keys. “Found that out the hard way.”

Sam stared at the brand, mouth opening once, then he licked his lips and looked up at her face, studying her intently.

“You're the _Banshee_!” he managed to exclaim after a minute.

One eyebrow slowly went up and Lydia smirked.

“Well, aren't you a bad boy.” Her tone was dark, completely different from anything her friends would recognize, but Sam knew it, had heard it just a couple weeks ago, in fact.

He was still staring at her when her phone rang. She glanced at it, then hurriedly accepted the call.

“Stiles?! Where have you been-” Lydia cut off as the person on the other line, Stiles?, spoke right over her. She glanced at Sam, pointed imperiously to the caged wolves, and then walked in the other room. Sam quickly unlocked the cages, pulling the two free, and then injecting them each with the mystery serum.

He took a few steps back, conveniently leaning against the wall near the doorway that Lydia had gone through, shamelessly eaves dropping on the conversation, especially after he put two and two together and realized that this Stiles that the banshee was talking to _had_ to be his new-found cousin.

“... not exactly covered by _Stanford law_ , Stiles.” He heard Lydia say in exasperation, before heaving a long suffering sigh. “Fine, send it to me. I'll call you back.”

Her phone started dinging in her hand, and she started muttering to herself. “..party of the third part... _absque hoc... infernalis... non adimpleti contractus... fallaciæ.._ ”

“Holy shit, that's a demon deal.” He muttered to himself, stepping around the doorway to peer at Lydia just in time to hear “ _infernus rex_ ” and he reached out and grabbed her arm, startling her from her concentration.

“That's a demon deal with _Crowley_ , Lydia, the _King_ of Hell. Was that Stiles Stilinski on the phone? Call him back and tell him to get the fuck out of there!”

Both her eyebrows raised and she stood, staring down the man who was well over a foot taller than she was.

“One, you _don't_ touch me without permission. Two, we're going to have a _long_ conversation after this is over. Three, you're going to help me with this contract, or Stiles isn't going anywhere.” That stern tone held Sam transfixed, mind reeling with visions of the last time he'd heard that intonation, _red-haired goddess in black latex wielding a cat o nine with flawless expertise_..

Her cleared throat brought him out of it, blushing and stammering as she hit send and handed him the phone.

“What have you got?” The voice came out tinny through the speakerphone.

“Hey, uhm, Stiles. This is Sam Winchester. Your cousin.”

“My what?” Stiles spluttered, “I don't have any cousins, both my parents were only children, and what did you do to Lydia? Lydia?!”

“Relax, Stiles, I'm here.” She rolled her eyes as she grabbed Sam's phone, eyebrows raised in question. He nodded as she continued talking to Stiles. “Sam is some kind of demon lawyer. He's going to help you. I'm going to babysit some omega werewolves.

“Wait, what? Omegas? Is everything alright?” The voice from the voice was now filled with worry.

“It's fine, Stiles. Just some out of towners. Listen to Sam.”

Tucking his hair behind his ears, Sam lifted the phone as he heard Lydia speaking to someone else through his. “Alright, Stiles, start reading from the beginning.”

\---

“Already in the doghouse?”

Crowley lifted his eyes up from the ground to watch Peter Hale saunter out of the treeline towards him. Death hadn't harmed his looks one bit.

Crowley could admit to himself how alluring the man was, somehow managing to exude sex and danger in equal amounts. He did it almost as well as the King of Hell himself did.

Crowley gave Peter no reaction, simply focused on him with a bored expression.

“I'd say you're the one who slipped your leash, pup.”

Quicker than a human eye could follow, Peter was in Crowley's space, backhanding the demon with his full strength.

Crowley slowly turned his head back to face the wolf, still expressionless, pulling out a handkerchief and dabbing at the blood dripping down his cheek. He already knew that he couldn't use his powers without Stiles, and he couldn't go back in to get the boy's attention either.

He could move, but Peter could move faster, and so he simply sat there, dabbing at the wound in silence. Peter smirked down at him.

“How's it feel to be the powerless one now?”

Reaching down to tear the cloth square from the demon king's hand, he extended a claw and carved into the skin of the other side of Crowley's face. The smirk never wavered from his face as he leaned in and swiped his tongue along the shallow cut, licking his lips as he drew back.

Crowley affected an impassive demeanor, but he felt the spike of arousal and he knew the second Peter's oversensitive nose caught it by the way his eyes flashed down at the demon.

Crowley shrugged nonchalantly, lips parting to say something no doubt simultaneously clever and insulting, but Peter forestalled it by surging forward and claiming them harshly.

A hand reached around to hold the back of the demon's head, Crowley could feel the claws digging in. At the same time Peter sunk his fangs into the King of Hell's lower lip.

Peter's free hand sunk between Crowley's parted things, claws digging through the material of his extremely expensive suit. The demon king, twisted his head, tearing his lower lip more as he shook free of the kiss.

“Hey, watch the merchandise, Cujo!”

“You'll heal. Eventually.” Peter pulled back enough to level a solid punch into Crowley's midsection, a dark chuckle following him into the Stilinski house as the demon doubled over on the stairs with a breathy curse.

\---

“Sam!”

Unfolding his massive frame from where he'd been sitting cross-legged on the floor, Sam rose, still listening to Stiles through Lydia's phone. Poking his head through the doorway, he saw Garth starting to move.

“Hey, listen Stiles, need to hand you off to Lydia. My friends are waking up.”

“Alright, thanks, cuz.”

“Stiles, you need to call your dad asap. He and Chris were out searching for you in the woods.”

“Wait, what? He should be at work, Lydia. What happened?”

“Apparently, you were supposed to meet with Chris earlier. And then Deaton.” Her voice was thick with disapproval. “I called everyone and let them know you're fine.”

“Fuck. I got distracted. Alright, I'll handle it- Fuck! Peter, 'm gonna put a mother fucking bell on you damned wolves.”

“Stiles, why is Peter there? Stiles?”

“Hang on a minute, Lyds.” There was some muttering away from the phone and Lydia narrowed her eyes at the device before turning to see Sam talking earnestly to his friend. Who, in turn, had his arms tightly clenched around the female wolf, only now starting to show signs of coming around.

“Yeah, whatever Peter, bring him to the Hale house by midnight, I've got other shit to take care of right now. Hey sorry, he wants to borrow my familiar for a bit.”

“Your..what? Stiles. What. Did. You. Do.”

Lydia could hear the wince.

“I'll explain later, promise. Hale house around eleven? Right now I need to do damage control.”

“Fine, I'll lecture you then. I've got to call Scott anyways and get this omega thing cleared up. Worst Spring Break ever.”

“No one's died yet.”

“There is that.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has non-con elements and torture between Crowley and Peter. Not really enough to tag for, but I thought I'd provide a warning.

Dean is lying on his back, spent, hazel eyes half-lidded as he watches the kid clean him up with only his tongue. In his younger days, he might have had another round in him, but as it is, Sam would be back in a couple hours. Still, he had a few moments and after murmuring a soft “Good boy” as Derek completed his task, Dean pulled him into his arms, running a hand through his hair.

The dark haired man resisted a moment, muscles tensing, then relaxed into Dean's hold. “There you go,” Dean said softly. “Just lay a minute and enjoy the afterglow.” He continued brushing fingers through Derek's hair until Derek stirred lifting his face and tilting a head in a way that looked adorably puppy-like.

“What is it, kiddo?”

Derek shook his head and rested it back against Dean's chest. “Thought I smelled something.”

Dean couldn't help his sudden wariness, but didn't let his body language give it away.

“Oh?” He said casually, “Like sulfur or something? That could mean a gas leak..” The hunter glanced at the knife they'd gotten from Ruby so long ago, just out of arm's reach on the bedside table.

“No.” Derek considered a moment. “More like ozone...only not quite. Never smelled anything like it before.” He devolved into mumbling as he dozed on Dean.

Dean set his jaw and closed his eyes. He knew what that was. And he bet he knew _who_ that was. _Dammit Cas._

_\---_

While Dean and Derek were experimenting with their flexibility, Sam had driven to the Stilinski household after settling things with Garth.

Garth's wife had explained how her brother had married a powerful Alpha here, but that the family had lost touch. When the pack that they were staying with was decimated by hunters, they'd taken a chance and headed to Beacon Hills.

They'd found a burnt out shell of a house, and no signs of what they'd thought was a thriving pack.

Garth cried when Lydia told him what had happened to the Hales.

It was that more than anything else, Sam suspected, that had garnered the new Alpha's permission to stay a while. He said he couldn't let them officially join until he'd spoken to Derek, apparently Garth's nephew. They would cross that bridge at the pack meeting tonight.

For right now, however, Sam had a new problem - whatever the hell was going on with Stiles and Crowley.

As he lifted his hand to ring the doorbell, he heard shouting inside, which cut off as a very angry Sheriff opened the door.

“What do _you_ want?”

Sam offered his hand. “So, I'm not from California Fish and Wildlife.”

The Sheriff snorted. “No shit.”

He didn't take Sam's hand. “What. Do. You. Want.”

“So, turns out...I'm your nephew. Yay.” Sam did something akin to jazz hands and gave the Sheriff his best puppy dog look.

“Jesus, you're definitely related to Stiles alright.” He ran a hand through his hair and stepped back, pointing to the couch. “Sit down and shut up while I finish yelling at my son. And then it's your turn.”

Sam winced and settled into the indicated seat, sharing a look with the kid already there, one of shared commiseration.

The Sheriff picked up where he left off. “..you call if you're not going to make an appointment. You don't trust _anything_ that Peter Hale gives you..” He sat down heavily and sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Dealing with demons now, Stiles? After..what happened?”

Stiles looked like he was going to puke, so Sam leaned forward.

“To be fair, Uncle – uh – Sheriff, sir, from what I understand, he wasn't _trying_ for a demon..”

“And **you**..” The Sheriff raised his voice again. “Coming in here, _impersonating_ state officials, _lying_ to law enforcement, _killing_ law abiding people who just so happen to be a little different.. What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Sam couldn't help it. He snorted. “That's a long list, Sheriff. Let's just say that I do what I do in order to save lives. And, _doing it_ , I've gained enough knowledge to help your son handle his current difficulties.”

After a moment, he nodded and leaned back. “So how are you supposed to be my nephew?”

“Claudia had an older brother.”

The Sheriff nodded. “He was killed in 'Nam.”

Sam shook his head. “He came back, got married, had me and my brother. My mom was killed by a demon when I was a baby. He raised us as Hunters.”

The Sheriff stared at him blankly a long minute, and then his cell rang.  He narrowed his eyes at Sam, but stepped into the kitchen, taking the call.

Sam and Stiles exchanged a glance and then Stiles lifted the much scribbled over contract and handed it to Sam, who was looking it over, chewing on the pen, when the Sheriff came back.

“You,” he pointed to Stiles, “No more disappearing.”

“You,” pointing to Sam, “No more killing. And you bring your brother around in the morning so I can meet him.”

“Yes, sir,” the two said in chorus, and the Sheriff rolled his eyes as he headed towards the front door.

Sam waited until he heard the cruiser pull away, then leaned back from the coffee table and looked at the ceiling. Stiles curiously followed his gaze, then blinked as Sam started..praying? Sort of.

“Cas, if you're not busy, we need your help dealing with Crowley-”

A subsonic flutter rippled through the room, and then there was a man in a trenchcoat in Stiles' living room, who hadn't been there five seconds before.

Stiles did not squeak, no - he made a manly noise of surprise, and well.. it was normal to knock over your soda and fall off the chair when people appeared out of nowhere.

The man gestured and the pop can was righted, liquid gone.

“Oh my god dude that was awesome. I wish I could do that, it would have avoided a lot of problems last month when when Professor Erickson had us working with fossils and I was trying to put it in the right spot, but the guy next to me..” Stiles trailed off as the man looked at him. “Holy blue eyes, Batman. Jesus, are those contacts?”

The man looked back at Sam. “Three blasphemies in as many seconds.”

Sam hid a grin as he made introductions. “Cas, this is my cousin Stiles. Stiles, this is Castiel. An Angel of the Lord.”

Stiles' snorted, and then his eyes went wide as he realized that Sam wasn't joking.

“Oh my g-” He cut off, thinking about what he was saying, his mouth opening and closing a few times. “Fucking hell.”

Castiel looked at him with what seemed to be fond amusement. “I can see the resemblance.”

Sam smirked. “Yeah. Anyways. Listen, Cas, here's the situation.” Sam explained what had happened and what they needed from him, and within ten minutes, they had a matching set of leather bracelets on the coffee table, Enochian symbols engraved in them.

Sam muttered as he set his phone down. “Dean still isn't answering.”

“He is busy,” Cas replied.

Sam looked guilty. “Uhm, yeah. We will just have to wait until he's...not busy.”

Stiles arched a brow at Sam, who leaned in and whispered. “He picked someone up at a bar earlier.”

Stiles nodded and then turned his attention to Cas, asking question after question about angels and demons while Sam went over the contract, penning a new draft carefully.

“..of course.” Sam looked up as Cas's voice cut off and both Stiles and Cas were gone.

“Fuck.”

He needn't have worried. Only a few seconds later they were both back, Cas unruffled but Stiles.. The kid stumbled away, and into the kitchen, losing his lunch in the wastebasket.

“They don't usually react like that,” Cas remarked.

Stiles shook his head and then wiped his mouth, rinsing it out at the sink.

“Nevermind. I'm fine. Just a.. a shock to the system.”

Sam looked skeptical, but was distracted by his phone buzzing.

Stiles sat on the kitchen floor, leaning his head back against the cabinet. Yeah, seeing Derek.. _his_ Derek.. in bed with someone else had definitely been a shock.

\---

Crowley slowly opened one eye, unnecessary breath rattling through a collapsed lung. The other eye was swollen shut. The nostrils on his broken nose flared as he took in the scents of blood, urine and semen that surrounded him.

“Are we done here?” Crowley managed to sound bored. He'd been through much worse on the rack when he'd become a demon, but it had been a long time since he'd been able to be hurt quite so thoroughly.

He twitched as Peter ripped a flap of skin off his back.

“Oh no, _Fergus_ , I'm just getting started.”

\---

“Only Stiles could fuck something up that badly.” Isaac was leaning back against a tree, each arm around one of his lovers as they curled on a blanket.

“Isaac.” Allison's tone reproved him.

“No, Allison, how often is he going to do dumb shit that gets everyone ki-” His voice choked off, and he clenched his jaw as both Scott and Allison shifted to wrap their arms around him.

“Shh, Isaac, it's okay.” Scott knew how afraid Isaac was to lose those he loved and watching Allison die in Scott's arms had been seared into his memory. “That's why we have Lydia.” After some convincing, Peter had given them the spell and Lydia had brought Allison back.

“It wasn't his fault,” Allison put in. Whether she was talking about her being killed, or Stiles summoning a demon for a familiar, Isaac didn't know. He did know that this kind of thing always came down to Stiles in the end.

“I just wish he'd quit fucking around with things he doesn't understand.”

Scott sighed. “Yeah, me too.”

Allison frowned at the sudden melancholy of the trio. “Hey. Only a few more days before break is over and I'm not wasting our time together like this.”

The boys watched her as she leaned across Isaac's lap to pull Scott to her to whisper into his ear. Both sets of big brown eyes turned to Isaac and he arched a brow. He didn't even get to say whatever sarcastic comment he was preparing, before both sets of lips latched onto sensitive areas on his neck and he gasped, forgetting about Stiles and everything else, except the feel of his lovers' touch.

\---

“Listen, I gotta run for a bit.” Sam held up his phone. “You gonna be okay here for a while?”

Stiles nodded and waved listlessly.

Sam glanced to Cas, who was watching Stiles with that weird squinty-eyed frown thing he did.

“Cas?”

Slowly the ice blue gaze was locked onto him.

“Sam.”

“Uhm. Yeah. Keep an eye on him, make sure he's okay?”

“Of course.”

Sam eyed Stiles one more time and then ducked out the front door. He was in a hurry.

Lydia was waiting for him.

\---

An hour later Sam was on his back, rope digging in slightly to his wrists where they were secured to the bedframe, moaning echoing off the walls of her loft as he did his damndest to stay still, as she had ordered.

He gritted his teeth as another stripe of pain blossomed across his torso, twitching in place despite the command.

“Color?” she demanded.

He took a deep breath. “Green, Mistress.”

She nodded once and reached out, hand tightening around his length and then sliding along it a few times. Sam groaned with the effort not to arch his hips into her grasp.

“You're being so good for me, Sam..”

He whimpered as she let go of him and stepped away.

“Turn over. On your hand and knees.”

Sam took a deep breath and struggled to obey her. Lydia simply watched silently until he was in place.

“That took way too long. I'm going to have to punish you for that.”

Sam felt his cock twitch, fluid leaking from the tip to fall to the surface of the bed below him.

“Thank you, Mistress.”

He was answered with a strike against the previously unmarked skin of his ass. A flurry of blows followed that one until he was nearly sobbing into his arms. A cool hand slid along his welts as his color was requested again.

Once she ascertained that he was still at green, Lydia parted the pink and red striped globes of his ass and teased at that puckered entrance with a lubed and gloved finger.

He gasped and she could see the muscles of his thighs and calves flexing as he fought with himself not to move.

“I remember seeing you in the club. And before this last time. You're hard to miss, pet.”

Her finger was joined by another, slowly sliding in and out and then pulling apart to stretch him.

“You were there with someone a few times, weren't you?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he managed, ending with a groan as she slid a third finger in.

She hummed noncommittally and then curled her fingers a certain way and he jerked in place, crying out in surprise.

“Stay still, Sam.” Her voice was stern.

He took a deep breath. “Sorry, Mistress.”

Grabbing his hair with her free hand, she pulled him up so that he was kneeling up, her fingers still buried, unmoving, inside him. His cock jutted straight out, and he whimpered as a slicked hand wrapped around it and started gliding along his length.

He jerked again as Lydia's fingers inside him moved again, brushing over that bundle of nerves.

“M-Mistress..”

“Shh, Sam, not yet.”

She watched him fight, watched the minute changes of his body as he did everything he could to comply.

After a few minutes, she took pity on him.

“Now, Sam. Come for me.”

He cried out loudly as he was at last allowed to finish, spurting ropes of hot ejaculate across the surface of the bed.

After she had milked him of every last drop, she withdrew her hands from him, watching him pant, lips curving in a pleased smile as he stayed in position even though she could see his thighs muscles trembling. 

“You're such a good boy, Sam. Whoever trained you did very, very well. Now, on your back.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Flopping down somewhat ungracefully, he arranged himself on his back. “His name was Gabriel.”

Lydia noted the past tense and stroked a hand along Sam's cheek. “I'm sorry, pet.”

He gave her one of those shrugs that hid pain behind a wall of indifference.

Lydia arched a brow. If he belonged to her, she wouldn't let him get away with pulling inward like that. However, she didn't and they didn't have that much time left, so instead, she distracted both of them by climbing on the bed and straddling his face.

“Now, lets see what you can do with that tongue.”


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles curled even tighter into himself, lost in the image of Derek held in someone else's arms, someone who was way better looking than him, naturally.

In reality, it's not like he and Derek were _actually_ anything to each other, but Stiles had thought they were moving towards that. Or at least that they were going to be moving towards that. Okay maybe that he had hopes that they were going to be moving towards that. Apparently, he'd been way more invested than he thought because Stiles felt completely shattered, broken into pieces. Before he knew it, he was crying, broken, hitching sobs.

“Stiles.” The gravelly voice was right next to him. “You are upset.”

There was a long silent second where Stiles registered, and then he laughed. It was a short, bitter laugh, but one nonetheless, and he lifted his head, craning his neck up at the trench-coated angel next to him.

“Of _course_ , I'm upset. The man I love is in bed with another man.”

Castiel squinted at him. “You love the monster.”

Stiles surged off the floor and flailed a punch at Cas' jaw. His hand was easily caught and gently let go.

“He's not a _monster_ , you dick.”

Cas was silent a moment. “Werewolves are monsters.”

Stiles shakes his head. “No. Well, I mean some of them are, but Derek's not a bad person. He just doesn't use his words and makes bad decisions and tries to protect everyone. But he does it stupidly, you know, by throwing himself into danger headfirst, even when he doesn't have to.”

Cas releases Stiles' hand.

“I love Dean.”

Stiles boggles at him.

“It doesn't bother you? What we just saw?”

Cas tilts his head slightly. “Dean has been physically intimate with twenty-three others since I.. Since I met him. I believe that it is part of his self-destructive tendencies, coupled with his emotional difficulties.”

Cas gracefully settles on the floor next to Stiles. “He doesn't keep them.” He somehow manages to convey the impression of smugness without changing the stoic expression. “I am still here.”

Stiles looks down at the floor, and considers this a moment before looking up. “And you two are..?” He waves his hands to indicate that he means fucking but cant bring himself to say the word to the angel.

“No.” Cas stands up abruptly and the conversation is over. He pops out of existence just as there's a knock on Stiles' front door.

“The hell?” Stiles mutters, and pushes off the kitchen floor, padding to the doorway and pulling his front door open.

“Oh fuck.”

There's a body. Or what's left of one. There's blood everywhere, it's been flayed, bones are sticking out of bared muscle, and Stiles can't recognize who it is. He runs to the sink and loses whatever's left of his lunch.

Wiping his mouth, he grabs some white sheets from the closet and goes back to the door. He starts to wrap the body up, trying not to gag, when it twitches. Unbelievably, the eyes open, and Stiles is going to be scarred for life. The lips part and a hoarse voice whispers into the air.

“Hello, Bambi.”

“Holy fuck! What in hell happened to you?”

He doesn't get an answer right away because Crowley is too busy not making pain filled noises as Stiles brings him into the house. After some debate, he lays the King of Hell out on his kitchen floor.

Crowley takes a few deep breaths. “It'll heal.”

Stiles emits a short, barking laugh and run a hand over his head, trying very hard not to look at the blood pooling. “Seriously dude, what happened?”

“Eh, just a bit of foreplay with the puppy.”

“Peter? I mean, yeah, he's a creepy psycho but what did you do to cause him to do _this_?” Stiles frowns a moment. “'Sides I thought he was into Chris Argent.”

Crowley's eyes sharpen at the name, but he simply says, “We go way back.”

Stiles shakes his head. “Dude, I don't know how to..” He gesticulates, indicating Crowley.

“Call Dean Winchester,” Crowley wheezes out, followed by a number, and then the demon passes out.

“Jesus fuck.”

Stiles grabs his phone and dials the number.

\---

Dean stretches, nudging Derek. “Alright, pretty boy, you get the first shower. I need to call my partner.”

Derek mumbles but nods and slides off the bed, padding lightly to the small motel bathroom. Dean reaches for his phone and calls Sam.

“Dean. What the hell, dude.” Dean can practically _hear_ Sam's bitchface.

“I was busy. What've you got?”

“I found Garth. Did you know dad had a sister?”

"You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“Yeah, turns out she has a kid.”

“Great.” Dean shakes his head, then cradles the phone between his shoulder and his ear while he's pulling clothes from his duffel.

“It gets better. He's a witch. And guess who he bonded as his familiar?”

“Garth?”

“No, dude. _Crowley_.”

Dean laughs. Hard. “You gotta be fucking kidding me. Is that even possible?”

“Apparently. So anyway, Garth's gonna join the local pack, but we need to talk to Argent, and their Alpha needs to talk to them.”

“Yeah, okay, I'm gonna grab a shower and I'll meet you at Argent's.”

Dean hangs up with Sam as Derek comes out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist. Dean looks him up and down with a sigh.

“Man, if I didn't have places to be..” He flashes Derek a grin. “Thanks for the evening, kid. You need gas money or anything? I know it's an out of the way place?”

Derek shakes his head softly. “I'm good.”

Dean nods and heads into the bathroom. “See ya 'round, Derek.”

\---

When Dean climbs out of the shower, Derek is gone, and his phone is ringing. He doesn’t recognize the number.

“Yeah.”

“Dean Winchester?”

“Who's asking?”

“My name is Stiles. Stiles Stilinski-”

“Who the hell names their kid-”

“Dude. Not important. I got a guy bleeding out on my kitchen floor. Says he's a friend of yours.”

Dean hears something in the background, but he's already flying into his clothes and buckling on his weapons.

“Uhm, he said to bring Moose, too?” Stiles voice is uncertain, but Dean groans.

_Crowley._

_\---_

Lydia waits until Sam is climbing into his car, gesturing wildly at whomever was on the phone, before she addresses the empty room.

“You should tell him.”

The man fades from shadow. He looks small and short, only an inch taller than she is with her heels on, but Lydia can feel the immensity of his true form.

The fact that he's sucking on a brightly colored lollipop somewhat distracts from the mystique.

“Can't, babydoll.” He rests an elbow on her shoulder and they both watch Sam drive away. “That was part of my deal, remember? I get to live as long as I never make contact with him again.”

“Won't your brother reconsider?”

“Cas isn't the type for second thoughts.”

Lydia turns to say something but he is gone.

\---

Sam is standing in front of Argent's house when Dean calls him.

“I gotta take care of something real quick. You're better at the negotiation thing anyway. I'll call you when I'm done.”

Dean hangs up without waiting for an answer. Sam sighs and tucks the phone back in his packet.

When Chris answers, Sam offers him a bottle of scotch. “We should talk.”

Chris nods and steps back to let him in. He grabs two glasses and sets them down so Sam can pour. Same takes a sip and leans back.

“So here's the situation.”

\---

Dean pulls the Impala along the curb in front of the address that the Stiles kid had given him. Checking that he had his gun and the demon knife, he walks up to the door and knocks.

When the door opens, Dean gives the kid what's supposed to be a comforting smile. Because the kid looks pale and shaky as hell.

“Hey, I'm Dean.”

Stiles slams the door in his face.

\---

Scott and Isaac wrinkle their noses as Derek walks into his house. He glares at them. They wisely don't say a word.

Scott jerks his head towards the living room. “They claim to be related to your family. Peter didn't recognize them.”

Derek nods and walks into the other room warily. Arms are flung around him and he's halfway to wolfing out before he realizes that he's being hugged. _Hugged_. People don't hug Derek.

The female smiles a bit sadly. “You look so much like your dad at that age.”

Derek blinks at her while awkwardly patting the man who won't let him go.

She tilts her head and then he sees it. “ _Aunt Bess_?”

She nods and tugs her husband back. “This is Garth.”

Derek looks between them and then arches a brow.

“Our pack was killed by hunters. Garth and I were the only ones who escaped. We came here to ask Talia for asylum.”

Derek clenches his jaw. “It's not exactly safe here.”

Garth claps him on the shoulder. “Well, now that you've got Garth here, we will make it safe. All together. Like family.”

And then there's hugging again.

Derek escapes as soon as he can and finds Scott. “They're my Aunt and Uncle.”

Scott nods and gets up from the couch where he'd been snuggling with Isaac. “I'll have Stiles find them a place to stay once he gets back.”

Derek halts halfway to the kitchen, puts a nonchalant tone in his voice.

“Oh, where's he going?”

Isaac answers. “He made a deal with a demon. He's going to Hell.”

Derek is gone before Scott can even get up. He glance at Isaac who rolls his eyes and then gets up, sliding his hand into Scott's, and then they go welcome the newest members of their pack.

-

“Sheriff.”

Stilinski glances up from his paperwork tiredly.

“Parrish.”

“There's been a domestic disturbance called.”

The Sheriff blinks, unimpressed.

“At your house.”

The Sheriff swears under his breath and then nods to Parrish. “You're with me.”

When he gets to his house, himself and Parrish creeping up on the partly open doorway, they can hear the yelling.

“...to Hell, Stiles?! It's _stupid_. You always make such bad fucking decisions!”

The Sheriff sees a blood pool on his porch.

“Really? Derek? You're gonna stand there and talk to me about bad decisions?! _After fucking my cousin?!_ ”

The Sheriff pushes through the doorway, taking in the scene, gun pointing at the kitchen where a man in a trench-coat is kneeling over another man, who seems to be bleeding out.

“Hey now, it's not like he knew we were related.” This voice is deeper, and smug as shit.

“And you. How the _fuck_ could you do that to Cas? He loves you so much and all you do is hurt him and use him over and over?”

Parrish steps into the living room where the Sheriff's son is standing, arms waving wildly as he berates the two other men equally.

The dark haired man sees him first, emitting a growl, but before the deputy can even really register it, there's a gun pointed back at him.

Which Stiles smacks at. “That's my dad's deputy, you idiot.”

Dean tucks his gun away and holds his hands up in surrender, flashing a grin at the deputy that Parrish feels himself responding to before he realizes it.

Stiles rolls his eyes and swears. And then those eyes go wide. “Wait, if you're here - -”

“Hello, son.”

Stiles sits down on the sofa hard and buries his face in his hands. “How is this my life?”

-

Deputy Parrish leaves when the Sheriff says that he can take it from here.

Dean hands him a business card with his number.

-

“So, let me see if I've got this.” The Sheriff looks around at the boys in his living room. He doesn't care that all of them are adults now, they're all boys because they're _idiots_.

“You summoned a demon to be your familiar.”

Stiles leans forward. “Accidentally!”

“And then you let Peter Hale take him, and do that,” he points at the kitchen, “to him.”

“That was an accident too! I didn't know he would-”

Stiles sputters as the Sheriff holds up his hand. “I'm not done.”

“And then you summoned an angel, who took you to see these two,” The Sheriff glares at Derek – who looks chagrined, and Dean – who looks smug, “having sex.”

“ _Accidentally!_ ”

“And now you're going to Hell.”

“Only for 24 hours! I need to learn how to control this spark thing so there are no more-”

“Accidents?” The Sheriff grins wryly.

Stiles nods like a bobblehead, enthusiastically and earnestly.

Dean phone rings and he glances at the Sheriff, who nods.

“Sam.” He's quiet for a few, then clears his throat. “Yeah, almost done here. I'll pick you up there.”

He hangs up and looks at the Sheriff. “Sam's got everything cleared up with Argent.”

“Excellent, then we should be ready to disembark, eh, Bambi?” The new voice is smug and accented and the Sheriff looks to the see the man who he had seen without skin, now healthy and whole.

“I hope you know what you're doing, son.” The Sheriff watches as Stiles bites his lip nervously and nods.

“Stiles, please.” It's the first thing that Derek has said since the Sheriff got there. Stiles turns to look intently at him. Some sort of conversation is going on there and then Derek looks down.

“I'll be back for you, Derek.” Stiles says softly, then reaches out and sets his hand on the man in black's shoulder, sleeve riding up to expose the leather bracelet that is twin to the one the demon is wearing.

In the blink of an eye they are gone.

The Sheriff feels the total absence of his son keenly. Oddly enough, Derek seems to as well, because he whimpers like a wounded puppy before shoving his way out of the door and vanishing into the night.

The Sheriff watches Trench-coat and Juvenile Deliquent stare at each other for an uncomfortable few minutes before he clears his throat.

“Oh, get out of here.”

Dean starts and then nods, heading for the door.

“And, Dean?”

He pauses in the doorway, shoulder tensed.

“Sheriff.”

“We're family now. I expect to see you for Christmas.”

Dean's shoulders relax, and he heads through the door. Cas follows, pulling it quietly shut behind them. The Sheriff watches them from the window of his newly spotless kitchen.

Dean leans his back against the Impala, and reaches out to grab the lapels of Cas' coat. He says something soft but intense. Cas simply stares at him. Dean says something again, it looks like he's pleading. When Cas continues to be unresponsive, Dean pulls him close and kisses him softly.

Three streetlights blow out.

The Sheriff grins. He thinks those two are going to be just fine.

The grin slowly fades from his face as he thinks about where his son is now. Spending the next 24 hours in a bottle suddenly sounds like a good plan.


	6. Chapter 6

When his time is up, Stiles appears in his living room. He slides the bracelets off and smirks at Crowley.

“Well that was interesting.”

Crowley reaches out and shakes Stiles' hand. “To say the least. You know how to get in touch with me.”

Stiles nods and Crowley steps back. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got pressing business elsewhere.”

-

The door to Derek's loft opens suddenly, and all the wolves in the room stiffen in surprise. They hadn't sensed anyone.

Everyone turns to see Stiles.

He looks... different. Confident and even a touch arrogant. Derek wonders how 24 hours can change someone this much.

“Everyone but Derek needs to leave right now.”

Scott blinks and opens his mouth to say something. Stiles fixes a glare on him. Scott shuts his mouth and gets up. The Pack follows.

Derek arches a brow and crosses his arms, looking at Stiles. Stiles walks forward, lithe and menacing, and Derek's never seen anything so hot in his _life_.

Stiles stops about six inches in front of him and tilts his head. Derek furrows a brow and then realizes that Stiles is _listening_. Derek listens too. Stiles waits until every car is well out of hearing range and then he turns his gaze on Derek.

“Did you know time in Hell moves differently?”

Derek shakes his head, opening his mouth to say something about how stupid it was of Stiles to have gone, but Stiles pierces him with a glare and the comment dies on his tongue.

“I've been gone for nearly two weeks, Derek.” He steps closer and yet he's still impossibly not touching the werewolf. “And in that time, I learned a lot of things.”

Stiles reaches forwards with both hands towards Derek's face. Derek's eyes close automatically as Stiles' thumbs press lightly against his temples.

“I learned how to read beyond the surface.”

Stiles' hands slide down until they are cupping Derek's face and Derek can't open his eyes, can't face that look, afraid he's going to shatter into a million pieces.

“I learned to tell when people are hiding things.” Derek can feel the heat of Stiles' body as he leans in.

“I learned what you have been hiding from me for a _very_ long time.” Derek feels the whisper against his lips, and then Stiles' lips are there.

At first its just a light press, a gentle brush of lips, and then Stiles is pulling away, and Derek opens his eyes.

He's right. The _look_ in Stiles' eyes destroys him, tears him apart and rips him to shreds.

Derek makes a noise akin to a whimper, and then Stiles is surging forward again. This time it's not gentle or tender, this time it's demanding and Derek shouldn't find that so incredibly sexy. Because every time Derek's imagined this scenario, which may or may not have been a lot, it was _him_ pinning _Stiles_ down and ravishing him.

He never imagined that Stiles could take him apart with a pair of kisses.

One of Stiles hands, with its sexy, long fingers, reaches to slide along Derek's neck, and he is certain that the human knows _exactly_ what that does to him.  He is proved right when Stiles moves, sliding his leg between Derek's, pressing his thigh against the obvious bulge there. Stiles shifts a bit, giving Derek just a hint of friction as his teeth bite down into Derek's bottom lip.

Derek doesn't even realize that his claws are out until he tears a chunk of the wall off. He stumbles as it lets go, and Stiles steps back at the sudden shift. There's a brief look of confusion on Stiles' face until he realizes what's happened and then the human perches on the arm of the battered old couch and laughs. Derek doesn't pout. No - he manfully glowers at Stiles until he reaches out and pulls Derek close once more.

Derek stands between Stiles' legs as the long arms wrap around him and hold him tight. Stiles rests his cheek against the muscular chest, while Derek runs his hands through the younger man's hair. This feels like he's comforting Stiles, but Derek is the one who somehow feels safe.

Stiles turns his face up to look at Derek, and he can _feel_ the deep searching gaze. He apparently sees whatever he's looking for, because he pulls his arms back, lacing the fingers of one hand with Derek's.

“I'm not entirely human anymore, Derek.” Stiles stares at their hands like they hold the secrets of the universe. “Hunters will come after me even more than after you. They will call me a witch and try to kill me without the allowances they grant you.” He paused and considered a moment.

“Though technically I'd call myself a sorcerer. And not just because it sounds cooler than wizard. I mean, it's better than witch any day, but everyone either thinks pointy hats or Harry Potter. There _is_ a distinction though, it has to do with innate ability versus knowledge, and while technically-”

“ _STILES_.”

He blinks a moment as his brain reset, and then Stiles grins up at Derek. “So, yeah. Being with me is going to put you in even deeper trouble. And it's forever, dude.”

Derek arches a brow down at Stiles, echoing him. “...forever?”

Stiles flushes and pulls away a fraction. “No, I didn't mean that you and I were forever. I mean, if that's what you want, I'd be like 100% way into that, but I meant that I can't go back to completely human now even if I wanted to, which I don't really, because this shit is seriously cool, and you should see what I-”

“Stiles.” Derek's voice is strangled.

“Oh, uhm, yeah. So. Thing is. What I am, what I can do.. It needs to be a secret, between you and me.”

“Stiles, I can't lie to my Alpha.”

Stiles furrows a brow and lifts a hand to nibble at his nails. “See the thing is that I don't really object to Scott knowing, him being my best friend and all but it's Scott and he can't keep a secret to save his life, and I really can't have Chris finding out. And Isaac would tell him..”

Derek feels like he's only hearing half a conversation. “Why would Isaac..?”

Stiles blinks up at him again and then his eyes shutter and he slides from Derek's grasp. “I've seen some things.” He paces a bit while Derek narrows his eyes. Stiles looks at him again. “Oh no, don't you dare pull out the eyebrows of doom right now while I'm trying to tell you how we get to have our happy ending.”

“Our..? Stiles, you're not making any sense.”

Stiles stills and turns the full force of his attention on Derek, walking back to him. Derek somehow feels like prey under that regard. Stiles reaches out and curls his hand around Derek's neck and pulls him close so that their foreheads are resting against each other.

“Derek. This is the deal. If you want this, want you and I together, you _have_ to keep it a secret. But I promise, Scott will know when the time is right. There's something that _has_ to happen. He can't know I could have changed it.”

Derek closes his eyes. “Stiles...”

“No. Don't tell me now.” One of those long fingers rests against Derek's lips, and he can't decide if he wants to kiss it or part his lips and let it slide into his mouth, and then it's pulled away.

Stiles lifts Derek's chin so that he's looking up at the self-proclaimed sorcerer.

“Tomorrow, Derek. You can tell me your decision tomorrow. Tonight, is all ours.” He leans in and brushes his lips sweetly against Derek's once more, then whispers against them. “I'll be back at midnight.”

And then Stiles vanishes. Just disappears into thin air.

Derek buries his face in his hands.

-

Across town, there's a knock on the Argent's door. The hunter opens it to see a handsome, extremely well-dressed man on his doorstep.

“Can I help you?”

“Chris Argent?” The voice has an accent that stems from the UK, but he can't quite place where. Chris nods, ice blue eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Name's Crowley. There's a conversation we need to have. About Peter Hale.”

Chris lets the King of Hell in.

-

Before the Winchesters leave town, they make sure that Stiles has their number.

Sam texts Lydia a goodbye. She texts him back an address and a date. He doesn't respond. She knows he'll be there. He doesn't know that they will again have an audience.

-

Stiles comes to Derek that night.

Derek is sitting on his couch staring at the broken panes of the glass window. Stiles can feel his melancholy, his inner struggle, and he is given his answer, he knows how Derek will answer. But Stiles is selfish and so he's going to give himself this one happy memory.

He knows the second that Derek is aware of him, by the way his shoulders stiffen, and his head tilts slightly to the side like he's listening. Stiles wasn't exactly unobservant before, but now he's hyper-aware of everything.

He walks forward, deliberately making noise, and leans over the back of the couch to press his lips against the side of Derek's neck. Derek makes a soft noise and arches his neck, baring it to Stiles. Stiles parts his lips and flicks his tongue out, tasting Derek's skin. His left hand reaches out and tangles in Derek's hair, tugging his head even further to the side. His right hand slides down Derek's chest, then curls around his body as Stiles retracts his tongue and bites down hard on Derek's neck.

Derek stiffens in his grasp, his legs parting slightly as he reacts to the stimulation. Stiles sucks hard at the mark, knowing that it won't last the night, then pulls away after kissing it softly.

Derek takes a deep breath, opening the eyes that he doesn't even remember closing, and turns to look at Stiles. Just in time to see Stiles pull his shirt off, letting it drop to the floor. Derek has a moment of _want_ before he realizes that he can touch, has permission now, and pushes himself up, crossing the room and crowding Stiles against the wall.

He kisses Stiles' neck first, tongue trailing along the pale skin that he's been lusting over for years. He sucks hard, but Stiles stops him, pulling away with a hint of force. Derek halts, stomach dropping, thinking he's read this all wrong. Stiles clears his throat, “Just.. just not where my dad can see.”

Derek nods, resting his head against Stiles' bared shoulder a moment to regain control. Of course. It's close enough to the truth that it doesn't make Stiles' heartbeat betray him.

Derek steps back and lets his eyes roam over Stiles a moment, then he points. “Bed.”

Stiles smirks and mock salutes him, unfastening his jeans and sliding them off first, and Derek can't help but reach for him, sliding his hand down along Stiles' hardness that's trying to escape from his boxers. He's already leaking a bit and Derek's nostrils flare as he takes in the sudden increase in scent information.

Stiles is rubbing against Derek's hand, but this is not how he wants to get the younger man off, so Derek steps back, pointing imperiously towards the bedroom once more. Stiles pouts at the lack of friction, but turns obediently and starts to walk away.

Derek can't resist, he smacks Stiles' ass, which produces a squeak and a sudden uptick in the heart rate. Derek grins wolfishly and makes note of this for the future.

Derek strips faster than he ever has before, and is in the bedroom on top of Stiles before the younger man has had a chance to get comfortable. Derek uses his claws to remove Stiles' boxers and Stiles _really_ shouldn't think that's so damned hot but he does.

Derek spends _ages_ worshiping every part of Stiles body, kissing every mole, caressing every patch of skin, until finally he has Stiles' cock in his mouth. He lavishes attention on this too, tongue sliding along the underside of the shaft, then swirling up and around the head, catching the leaking fluids. He never wants to forget the taste of Stiles.

“Derek..I'm..” But he's not, because Derek pulls away and Stiles whines with disappointment.

“Not yet.” No, Derek wants them to finish together.

So, he slides his hand down underneath Stiles, intending to tease his hole with the tip of a finger. He finds instead that it's already stretched and sloppy. Derek's finger slides in easily and then two, and he looks up at Stiles, eyes glazed with lust as he stares. Stiles flushes somewhat.

“I prepared.”

Derek thinks about Stiles with his fingers buried deep inside his hole, stretching himself for _Derek_ , and he has to be _in_ Stiles right the fuck now.

Derek pulls his fingers free, wiping them on the bedspread before he wraps them around Stiles hips, shifting the other man's body until they're in the right position, and then he presses forward.

Derek cant help but watch Stiles' face as he slowly slides his cock inside. “Fuck,” he says breathlessly. “ _Stiles_.”

“Yeah,” is all the other man can manage. “Yes, fuck yes.”

When they are completely joined, Derek slides his arms around Stiles and just holds him, just like that. Derek wants to remember this moment forever.

“Derek.” Stiles' nails dig into his sides. “Fucking move, dammit.”

Derek shuts him up with a kiss, and then rolls his hips. Stiles moans into the kiss and it's the fucking hottest thing Derek's ever heard and Stiles is so fucking tight, that he knows it's not going to last very long.

“Stiles,” Derek starts to warn him with a breathy whisper, as he keeps thrusting, but then Stiles arches as Derek shifts slightly. And then Stiles is crying out Derek's name as it pushes him over the edge, come splashing both their stomachs and Derek can't hold back any longer.

Two more quick snaps of his hips forward and Derek joins him, pulsing inside his mate. Derek takes a few deep breaths before pulling out, breath hitching, and then falls to his side next to Stiles. Stiles opens his eyes, reaching out to caress Derek's cheek. Derek turns his head to look at his lover, whose eyes are glimmering with unshed tears.

“I love you, Derek.”

Derek furrows a brow but before he can respond, he hears Stiles whisper, “Sleep now, Derek.”

Derek sleeps.

-

Stiles gives himself ten minutes to get himself together, and then he begins the task of cleaning up. He cleans up Derek first, gently and lovingly, then redresses him in his boxers, after removing the evidence of them being together from the sheets. Stiles does the scent removing spell twice, just to make sure.

Once everything is set to rights, Stiles reaches a hand out and extends claws that look just like an Alpha's, wincing as he shoves them into Derek's neck.

He excises the memory of this night, replaces it with a memory of him trying to kiss Derek, but Derek pushing him away. He gives Derek a memory of Stiles explaining that he learned to do a few helpful tricks in Hell, but that he'll never be very powerful. Then memory-Stiles went home, and Derek went to bed.

Slowly, Stiles withdraws the claws, waving a hand to heal the marks.

He runs the back of his hand down Derek's cheek and presses a feather light kiss to his forehead.

“I will always love you, Derek Hale.”

And then Stiles turns and walks away.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration: Round and Round by RATT
> 
> Please let me know if I need to tag anything else. <3
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](http://goddessofcruelty.tumblr.com/)


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